I awoke the next day with only the haziest memory of much of the latter part of our evening. It was unpleasant, this haziness. The upside, however, was that I didn't have a hangover ... mainly because I was definitely still drunk. This entertained me, K. and the others standing in line for omelets at 7 something in the morning. I mean, I wasn't slurring and falling over myself. Just, you know, having an even harder time filtering my thoughts. It was imperative that I have an omelet with cheese and I hadn't grasped that the man making the omelets had cheese, so I went and got a slice from another buffet station and brought it to him, and when I realized he already had cheese, well, I thought it was pretty funny. Whatever. You had to be there. It wasn't that funny, even if you were there. K. didn't even laugh. I went with an omelet with peppers, tomatoes, and the aforementioned cheddar cheese. Sausage links were also in the running for 'thing cc really wants to eat,' though the hash browns were, in actuality, better. K. felt that most everything in Jamaica didn't taste the same as the states. This included the eggs. I didn't really feel the same way, but that doesn't mean anything really. I will say that the omelet was somehow more like an egg crepe (do such things exist?) than an omelet. By that I mean that the egg portion was almost paper thin and then stuffed with the sauteed veggies. I would preferred a fluffier and thicker egg portion myself, but I still enjoyed the half that I ate.
Pretty kiwi, I put you in my belly. Out of love.